


The 27 Club

by RapidashPatronus



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RapidashPatronus/pseuds/RapidashPatronus
Summary: The FBI agent and the thief; an unlikely team





	The 27 Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/gifts).



> This is my Rebelcaptain Secret Santa work for the lovely coppernailpolish! The prompt was “museum meet-cute” and it kind of ran away with me...

Jyn watched him.  
There was nothing really to set him apart from anybody else, nothing to suggest that he was anything other than exactly what he seemed. He was unextraordinary in almost every way, at least among the glamorous movers and shakers at Empire Corp's London Christmas party in the British Museum. Jyn reached behind her for another vol-au-vent and popped it into her mouth without taking her eyes off him.  
The glittering woman with whom he had been speaking laughed delightedly, patted his arm, and turned away, her smile slipping off immediately. So did his. So did everybody's, here. It didn't mark him out. Common to all was this effortless, ingratiating charm like light in a diamond - dazzling and ephemeral.  
"Ah, she's over by the food, of course!" The voice boomed into her consciousness and she looked around, assuming that same completely sincere, completely temporary smile that everybody wore. A handsome, mature man in a white tuxedo approached, trailed by a handful of equally stylish men and women; members of the EMEA board, no doubt.  
"Orson!" She tinkled out a laugh. "You caught me!"  
He neared, leered - a proprietorial pat on her bottom that felt like a first reminder letter. She held her smile and took the proffered champagne.  
"Can't fault the girl for her appetite," he winked at the cohorts he'd brought with him, and they laughed appreciatively at his implication.  
Jyn raised her glass to them. God, he was going to be so satisfying to rob.  
She certainly wasn’t under any illusion that even a sleaze like Orson Krennic would have his head turned by just a sparkling smile and a clever hairdo. Obviously, they helped, but she had to stay smart; he wasn’t just going to hand over all his security information on request. You didn’t make it to Director of Engineering (EMEA) at Empire Corp without a fair bit of critical savvy, and Krennic looked for threats with almost paranoiac diligence.  
When she looked back, the man who didn’t belong was nowhere to be seen. Oh – no – there he was, in earnest, nodding conversation with a young man who bore the cocksure arrogance of a professional on a meteoric rise. Jyn had met these so-called meteoric sales prodigies in the past. Nobody, it seemed to her, had ever told them that meteors only shone when burning up.  
The man who didn’t belong bothered her. She couldn’t work out what was off, what it was that marked the fake from the phonies; more importantly, she was bothered that it bothered her. She couldn’t allow herself to get distracted at this stage. She shook herself inwardly and turned back to her date and his cohorts. She had to stay focused.  
That said... she needed a break.  
She stayed by Orson for a few minutes, joining in on the conversation with a calculated cocktail of charm: witty, but not too insightful. Finally, she tapped her hand lightly on his arm and leaned in to speak in his ear. There was nothing confidential to be said, but the intimacy would titillate his ego.  
“I’m going to the ladies’,” she murmured, and, pushing down her revulsion, gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to the assembled party and gave her apologies prettily, before sliding away, one last pat to her rear humming with disgust as she moved out of sight.

It wasn’t going well, Cassian was all too aware. So far he’d managed to get nothing of use out of anybody. It was the usual issue; everybody liked to intimate coyly that they were, cross fingers, conspiratorial wink, “like that” with the top brass at Empire Corp, but nobody he had spoken to actually knew anything at all. He’d been working in this job for eight years now – and on this specific case for well over three of them - and he could tell a braggart from a useful source within seconds.  
Over three years! Forty-one months, to be precise. And he was nearing a breakthrough now, he was sure of it. There was something squiffy with Empire Corp, something fishy, something wrong, there was something, he was sure of it. And if there was anyone who could sniff it out, well -  
He was running out of time to prove it, he knew. Even his boss, who trusted him as much as anyone could trust anyone in their business, had had to fight the higher-ups in the Bureau to buy him more time. He was a valuable resource that could be better spent elsewhere, they’d argued.  
“They know how good you are,” Draven had told him. “They say you’d have found something by now if there was anything to find, instinct be damned.” He’d paused, sighed. “I’ve bought you three more months. Don’t make me look stupid, Andor.”  
Looking stupid wasn’t Cassian’s concern. He had to believe that this was worth it, after all it had cost him. He’d spoken to a woman earlier that evening who’d reminded him, for a brief moment, of Lou. A paint-thinned watercolour forgery of her, at any rate. Something about the way her hands moved. And when she’d floated off to enchant somebody else, she, too, had not bothered with goodbye.  
Ancient history. Well, they were in the right place for it.  
Cassian returned to the present, to the platinum-plated pretence, and sipped his drink. He needed a moment to regroup and consider his next move. He had to make the most of this chance, target his conversations, move carefully, home in. His instincts (damned or otherwise) prickled. All he’d learned in the last three years, all he’d put together, was circumstantial, nothing but surmise and innuendo, but tonight he had the chance to put something, some kind of substance behind the suspicion, lend weight to the tiny voice inside that whispered to him: weapons.  
He took another drink from a tray as it sailed by, for appearances’ sake, and made his way up the sweeping stairs away from the sparkling marble lobby. On the pretext of admiring the museum’s exhibits, he could find space away from the chatter to plan his approach. What was the point, after all, of a party in a museum, if everyone stayed in the lobby anyway?  
He’d been here before. A minibreak to London with Lou after missing their anniversary, and she’d wanted to see the Rosetta Stone particularly. But the Museum was vast, and you could spend weeks there and not see everything, and so they’d left without making it to the room he was heading to now. He realised with a pang of self-reproach that he was acting on a whim rather than with any real purpose, and admonished himself even as he kept walking, until he arrived at Room 27 on the first gallery. Mexico.  
  
Jyn had never been one for museums, generally, barring the ones she’d run jobs on. As a pastime, no. It aggravated her that everyone would coo mindlessly over a misshapen piece of rust while ignoring the infinitely more fascinating system of weight-sensors and triggers that supported it. There was nothing, to her, especially thrilling about the fact that humans had always been humans, because it rather supported her belief that, unfortunately, humans would always continue to be humans. They droned on to the vanishing point in both directions, a shipping forecast of mighty wars and petty wrongs, moving more quickly, no change likely.  
It pleased Jyn to think that she didn’t believe in justice, and so she would never examine too closely how she selected her marks, exactly why some jobs were anathema while those she took were – well, people like Krennic. The fact of her personal code was not one she cared to scrutinise.  
All the same, something delighted her sense of proportion that she was building up to the biggest con of her life right here in the British Museum. Museums might not have held a pull for Jyn, but this particular museum was something more. Filled with the stolen and misappropriated and smuggled, it was a shrine, an absolute gleaming temple to theft.  
God, it was nice to get some space from those drones downstairs. The room was cool, quiet. Unattended, of course, because somewhere like the British Museum didn’t need something as unreliable as a human to know if it was being robbed. It’d make a fun challenge one day, perhaps. This thing here, for example – she eyed it. “Sculpture of Huastec Goddess” – yikes, no. Goddess of sexuality, not her kind of thing. Attractive though, in an angular sort of way –  
Someone else was coming in.  
Jyn turned, preparing her careful smile again, and almost spilled her drink. Shit. It was him. He must be on her case somehow. Play dumb, play cool.  
She grinned loosely and swayed. “There’s a snake in the Ancient Egyptian rooms that looks like the poop emoji,” she giggled drunkenly.  
The man’s mouth twitched at the corners, but he moved past her and into the room. “I’ve seen it,” he said.  
“Boring party,” she added.  
He looked at her steadily, unnervingly steadily. “You think?”  
“Works do,” she went on. “They always are.”  
“You working now?”  
Shit. Jyn giggled again to cover her panic. That was too pointed. He was onto her. “Are you?” she asked pointlessly, lost for a comeback.

Cassian blinked. The young woman was definitely not as drunk as she would have him believe. She had him worked out already. He was meant to be good at this. What was she after him for?  
“I’m just here for a breather,” he replied. He gestured around the room and shrugged. “Mexico.”  
“Oh, right,” she said. “Your -” she gestured vaguely at her mouth as if she couldn’t remember the word “accent”. She was an excellent actor; he wasn’t buying it.  
He turned away to study the turquoise mosaic. “Something like that.”  
“Welcome home…” she laughed. He didn’t answer. “You should look out,” she teased. “There’s a sex goddess in the room.”  
“You’re not drunk,” he said abruptly, turning back to her. She’d advanced on him but now she froze, her laughter sliding off her face like melting silver. It was quickly replaced with cold composure, but he realised with a start that he’d frightened her.  
“You surprised me,” she faltered. “I’m just - I’m in here on my own and you’re a stranger and -” She warmed to her theme with increasing confidence. “You know, I thought, maybe I’d put you off, if, you know.” She summoned her smile back. “But you seem alright. Sorry. I just needed a breather. I should get back to my date.”  
It was an impressive play. The woman turned to leave, and Cassian, despite himself, was nonplussed. If she was playing some kind of game, he didn’t know it. Perhaps she wasn’t here for him at all. Before he could stop himself -  
“What’s your name?”  
She hesitated in the doorway.  
“Whatever you’re here for,” she said over her shoulder, “you’re not Empire, and I should call security.”  
“But you are?” He shot back.  
“I’m Orson Krennic’s date,” she answered crisply, and walked on. The light from the gallery painted her edges sharply in the frame, caught in the loose tendrils of hair that escaped the French twist and curled down toward her shoulder blades, and then just as suddenly, the doorway was a bare rectangle of light and nothing but his amazement marked where she had been.  
Cassian didn’t have time to be fascinated.  
But he was.

Jyn ran cold water over her wrists and stared at herself in the mirror. Shit; shit, she’d been so close on this one. She was going to have to pull out. She couldn’t do this with some guy watching her like a hawk. Who was he? Police? Private investigator? Probably that. God, wasn’t that just Orson Krennic all over, hiring a PI to vet his dates. Paranoid twat. Never mind that he was right to in this case.  
She had three get-out plans for contingency. The best she’d ever had was eight; the worst, well, she hadn’t had a contingency at all. The Bodleian job had been a pass/fail grade. That would’ve been a long enough stint if that’d gone wrong, but this… no, she had to get out, and fast. Tactfully, so as not to arouse suspicion, but quickly, neatly, and without trace. As she'd hoped to do with assets worth over £6 million, but instead, with nothing to show besides this £3,499 dress he'd bought her.  
Fine. That was the game. Win some, lose some, and try not to think "what if" and definitely, definitely try not to get caught losing.  
Shit, though, if only.  
She swept on a refresher coat of lipstick and tried to rid her eyes of the shaken expression.  
At least it was a nice dress.  
By the time she made it back down into the lobby, Krennic was holding court with a different group - equally glittering, notably more obsequious - and some two glasses of fizz further on than he had been.  
"Gosh!" she laughed brightly as she neared him, spreading her hands apologetically at the group. "This place is vast! I swear, I went to find the ladies' and I wound up in 5th Century Peru!"  
Krennic welcomed her with an indulgent smile to the group. "Ah, the prodigal date returns. I was just telling them of your extensive travels. Kestrel's been to Nicaragua," he elaborated pointlessly to the others.  
"You were doing no such thing," she simpered. "I'm sure you've far more exciting things to talk about."  
"Well..."  
They all laughed.  
Jyn was just about to execute her exit plan when another person joined their group. Tallish, slim, well-dressed and attractive, in an angular sort of way. Shit.  
"Kestrel!" He slid forward and kissed her cheek. "It's been so long. You didn't tell me you'd be here!"  
What the - what on earth was he playing at?  
"I thought you were still in Mexico," she answered pointedly.  
Orson chuckled. "Do I need to be jealous, Kestrel? Who is this young man?"  
"So sorry," said the young man, turning immediately to him and shaking his hand. "Will Eyckes. You must be this Orson Krennic I've heard so much about!"  
Jyn stared at him as Krennic preened before his gaggle. She couldn't fault this man's acting; God, the guy almost put her to shame. What the hell was going on? If he was Krennic's PI, then why-?  
Perhaps the job was still on.  
"Will," she smiled, an icy edge visible only to him, "we simply must catch up sometime. How long are you in town for? Give me a bell. But I'm so sorry, you've got simply the most rotten timing, I was honestly right on the point of ducking out." She turned to Krennic. "Darling, I'm so sorry, but I've the most stunning headache, you wouldn't believe. I don't suppose..." She leaned in and dropped her voice, but still careful to make sure the others heard. "I don't suppose I could meet you back at...?"  
One from the group, an expansive and greasy-looking man with too many rings on, seized on this. "Orson, you old dog! What a coup!" And then, to Jyn - "Where do I sign up?"  
She tinkled out a laugh to indicate that this was entertaining and not utterly revolting. She hoped it sounded convincing.  
It was amazing how easily men like Krennic gave in to this sort of thing when they had an audience, compared to alone. So it was that she found herself with his hotel keycard, standing on the front steps of the Museum awaiting her taxi. The Christmas lights of London blurred in the weather, and she pulled her stole around her more tightly against the sleeting chill.  
"You're robbing him," came the Mexican's voice from behind her.  
She swallowed. "Don't be ridiculous."  
Jyn didn't look around as she felt the man come and stand beside her, but kept her eyes on the road. Bloody taxis at this time of night. The man was holding something in front of her, a cigarette case or something. She looked down.  
Fuck.  
"Tell me everything," he said.  
It was an FBI pass.  
Jyn stared, then swallowed.  
"If you know what I'm doing then you don't need anything from me."  
"I think I do," said this - she glanced at the pass - this Cassian Andor. He snapped his pass away back into his pocket. "I think you can help me. I'm not here for you."  
She looked up at him then. "You're not?"  
"Tell me everything." He looked serious, but underneath, there was something else - she recognised it straight away - something close to desperation. And immediately, it was all there. Youthful features a little too lined, dark brown eyes that cared about something, something, and showed it just a little, which was a little too much. That was why he didn't belong there. Suddenly, she wasn't afraid.  
"What do you need?"

Orson Krennic's room was on the 27th floor. Cassian watched Kestrel as she made her way along the corridor ahead of him, her bare back hidden by the broad fur stole. He was being careless, he knew; with cameras in every corner he could be placed in the hotel in an instant if it came to it. But the night had been leading to a dead end until this young woman had appeared before him, all emerald silk and opportunity, and now he stood, for the first time in over three years, on the edge of a real breakthrough. On the edge of something, anyway. It felt providential, precipitous. If it came to nothing - it couldn't, not now. Not after everything.  
"You're obsessed with that bloody job," Lou had said.  
Maybe. Something felt different.  
Kestrel swiped the card in the door and it clicked to green. He followed her inside.  
The room was immense; a suite, almost. Richly furnished, but not lavishly - it was tasteful, modern, achingly expensive. Kestrel didn't even pause to take it in. She was off, casing the room immediately like a professional. It was efficient, clinical, competent. Cassian began to hear an alarm sounding quietly in his mind and didn't try to stop watching her work. He knew how to do this himself. He didn't need her now; he was in.  
"My name's Jyn Erso," she said suddenly as she moved around.  
He straightened his jacket absently. "Really."  
"We've got a deal," she went on. "I help you out and you don't turn me in. Jyn's the name you don't send down, alright? Kestrel can burn with everyone else I've been for all I care but Jyn - Jyn I actually care about. Jyn's who you're looking out for right now."  
He nodded. "Suits you."  
"Ok." She didn't sound like she cared, and he didn't know why he'd said it. Or, more uncomfortably, he thought maybe he did.  
In short order, Jyn had turned the place on end with meticulous care, and finally beckoned Cassian over to the hotel safe in the far wardrobe.  
“You said he mentioned Stardust,” Cassian said, trying to keep the urgency from his voice.  
She nodded while she considered the safe. “Yeah, just in passing to his colleagues, before I came up and met you. I didn’t think anything of it. I was focused on my job, really. Other stuff was sort of by the by.”  
Cassian couldn’t keep from smiling a little. That focus was familiar.  
“Still,” she went on, “it was definitely Stardust. My Dad’s name for me when I was a kid, so I noticed.”  
She seemed at last to come to a decision and punched in a code on the safe. It sprang open.  
Cassian gaped. “How did you-?”  
“The date he was made a Director.”  
“But -“  
“Lucky guess. It matters to him,” she shrugged. “He took me for dinner a couple of weeks ago to celebrate the anniversary. His anniversary.” She snorted. “He’s a real catch.”  
Cassian wondered unbidden how long she had been working on Krennic, how she had managed to keep the man at heel without... or had she-? Had they-?  
She must have guessed his question.  
“That rat gets nothing from me,” she bit, then reached into the safe and pulled out a laptop, a phone, a watch and an external hard drive. “I get everything.”

Jyn barely had time to check what she was holding before Cassian pounced hungrily.  
“We can decrypt these,” he said excitedly. “There’ll be emails, maybe details... this is it.”  
Jyn looked up at him uncertainly. “What about me?”  
Cassian hesitated, and when he met her eyes his own were filled with contrition. “Job’s over,” he told her. “We need all this.”  
Jyn sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been working on this for eight months,” she muttered helplessly.  
“Three years,” Cassian answered. “I’m sorry. I really am.”  
To Jyn’s surprise, he sat beside her on the bed.  
“Is there any reward?” she asked. “If you find anything?”  
Cassian was staring down at the laptop in his hands dully. “Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.  
“My reward is I get away with this,” she summarised. She looked around at him and saw him answer with a bleak nod.  
He really did look sorry. Excited, yes, and a little ragged now despite his evening attire, and filled with a light of hope, but also sorry. She wondered why he cared it all. She’d had plenty of jobs messed up by other people before and never heard “sorry” once, least of all from a Fed.  
She nudged his arm. “Hey, if it’s weapons, I’m glad you’ve got it.”  
Cassian looked up at her in surprise.  
“Wars are gross,” she said simply. “Besides, you’ve worked harder for this than I have.”  
Without warning, he put the laptop to one side and took her face in his hands. She kissed him back with a gentleness and enthusiasm that surprised her. Unexpected, sweet and earnest, it felt like a strange settling was happening inside her. She reached up and and brushed a hand along his jaw; he deepened the kiss in response.  
An idea suddenly struck her and she broke away from him. “Cassian?”  
“Yeah?”  
“What would be the reward if I told you who’s got the Bodleian’s copy of the Gutenberg Bible?”  
He stared at her, laughed, and kissed her again.


End file.
